I worked in a restaurant that was famous for its barbeque pizza. My friends, along with thousands of other people from the area, would stop in and pick a pizza up and just rave about the crust.
Little did they know that the pizza cook, "Eli," would sleep against the wall all day with his hands down his pants. When the boss would realize that there was a backup on pizzas, he would poke his head into the kitchen and yell some string of obscenities at Eli, who would jump up, pull his hands out of his pants, and start kneading the dough. Nasty.